


Of all the lies I've told, I hate this one the most

by Vita_Umbrarum



Series: The marks upon our skin [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Everyone besides john is just mentioned, Gen, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Pre-Relationship, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, idk what im doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25552363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vita_Umbrarum/pseuds/Vita_Umbrarum
Summary: In a world where everyone has at least one soulmark John Laurens has none. It's fine, he doesn't need to be loved.
Series: The marks upon our skin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852993
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	Of all the lies I've told, I hate this one the most

**Author's Note:**

> I recently finallly watched Hamilton, read too many fics on this site and then had to chase down this plotbunny. I have no idea what I'm doing. I might write a sequal/continuation of this that's happier if I get ideas?

Once John had looked up the site. Like all other kids did, when they turned eight. It was tradition to do so, with your parents. To categorise your mark, to see who shared it. After that he avoided it, it wasn’t necessary to look at, after all, he had no marks.

A teacher had once explained the concept to his class. How black marks symbolized romantic relationships, and white marks stood for platonic ones. She told them most people only had one, but that some lucky ones had more. She told them everyone had at least one mark, that the universe had a destined soul for everyone. John had scowled at that, knowing that was a lie, he was proof of it.

When he was younger sometimes people told him that maybe the mark would show up late. That sometimes it appeared at nine or ten. As he grew older nothing appeared. The kind reassurances dwindled and the scathing remarks grew. John was told to ignore them but got into fights anyway. Soon no one would know which bruises were supposed to be there and which weren’t.

His mother passed away and suddenly he has to be too, too old and too responsible and there was no time to wonder on non-existant marks. It was fine, he had never been a child anyway. Although he no longer had time for fights, the bruises stayed. Sometimes his siblings asked him why he didn’t have a mark and he’d spin some elaborate lie. As he grew older and the questions stayed, the lies grew shorter until it was nothing more than _‘’That’s just how it is.’’_

\--

He goes to New York for college, keeps his head down and speaks to no one. His name has history attached to it, history he wants to avoid. New York is accepting of those who are different, his father is not. Anytime his father makes the news, with a speech, or a minor election, he camps out in the library and ignores the glares. He avoids fights, drinking, possible friends and focuses on his studies. He goes home to fists, bruises and a frown. He goes home to _‘’I don’t pay for you to fail John.’’_ He never fails a single class but he knows that anything less than perfect is a failure. He fails all his classes.

His siblings don’t understand why he visits less and less. He lies more and more and says he’s busy. He still tells them stories, but they’re shorter and less truthful. His siblings are older now, finding their marks. Anytime they tell him of their friend they found, or the person they will love with all their hearts he smiles and wishes it didn’t feel so fake.

He knows they don’t look fake, he has had more than a decade to perfect the act.

It all goes wrong in his second year. His assigned dorm partner drops out and he gets placed in a new dorm. One he has to share with three others instead of one. It goes wrong the moment they learn his name. It goes wrong the moment he learns their names.

_Alexander Hamilton, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Hercules Mulligan._

The universe hates him. His roommates hate him. The scars on his back burn and once more he wishes that the hands that held him under in the pool hadn’t disappeared before his vision blackened and water flooded his lungs. 

A long time ago, in South Carolina, an eight year old John Laurens cries over things he doesn’t understand. At that moment, in New York, a twenty year old John Laurens with dead, too old eyes remembers what his father said. _‘’Men don’t cry John.’’_

He adjusts his backpack and walks out of the room, ‘’I’ll ask administration if the rooms can still be rearranged.’’

The universe hates him, and he hates the universe, but not as much as he hates himself. It’s fine, he doesn’t need to be loved. He’s going to Hell anyway, the pastor said so.


End file.
